


Night Without Stars

by Jmeelee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, F/M, JBWeek, Jaime x Brienne Appreciation Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A face without freckles is like a night without stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Without Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Jaime x Brienne Appreciation Week!
> 
> This is part of a larger story that I have been very slow at writing. I do hope to finish it...someday! For now, this chapter is meant to stand on its own.

The gallery was awash in a sea of red dots, Brienne noted with satisfaction as she glanced around the _Rose and Thorn_ gallery. The contemporary space was packed wall-to-wall with people earlier that night and every piece had sold. _Red Dot Heaven_ her father would have said. It was late now. Once the sun set everyone had drifted into the streets to eat, and dance, but one person remained. Jaime Lannister stood contemplating his father’s painting, which was hanging in the gallery’s most prominent display area.

Brienne told herself to turn around before he noticed her. She should have been in the back office helping Olenna count the proceeds from the art show, but before she realized where her feet were taking her she was standing next to Jaime, who had removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his collar. “What do you think is happening in the painting?” she quietly inquired. 

Jaime took so long to answer she thought he was going to ignore her. When he finally did turn to look at her, he didn’t inspect her body in that arrogant, insulting way of his. Instead, he smiled, showing off straight white teeth. It wasn’t anywhere near the devastating grin she had witnessed him bestow on Margaery Tyrell earlier, though. 

“How in the seven hells would I know what my father had in mind?” 

She bristled, telling herself Jaime offended her with his tone. Yet that wasn’t completely true. She was upset because the beautiful grin he had for her now was nowhere near the magnitude of the smile he had given the gallery owners’ granddaughter that evening. Brienne bitterly reminded herself that it did not matter to who Jaime Lannister accorded his smiles. 

“Don’t you have any opinion at all? He is _your_ father.” Jaime grinned again at her curt tone, but it was more of a smirk this time. She tried once more, attempting to lace her voice with honey instead of vinegar. “You of all people must have some insight into what the meaning is.” Finally, Jaime tore his gaze from hers and turned back to the canvas. 

The oil painting depicted a medieval knight dressed in pristine white, sitting atop a horse. His helm was tucked under one arm. In the other hand, he held out a bushel of white wildflowers toward a maiden dressed in brilliant blue. The knight’s expression contained so much longing that on first glimpse it had astounded Brienne. Tywin Lannister had created a tour de force. It was an emotional painting, but full of mystery. The maiden’s face was turned away just enough to conceal her features. It was impossible to tell if the knight was offering the flowers as a token of love, or if he was leaving the love of his life forever. 

“The knight made a mistake,” Jaime admitted, finally. “His behavior was unchivalrous. He loves the girl, but all he has to offer her are the flowers in his hand. Does she love him enough to accept the flowers he picked…and forgive him?” 

The gallery suddenly seemed too empty and too dominated by Jaime’s presence. Brienne was not a small girl, but at his words her arms bridged her torso to combat a shiver of anticipation. 

“What about you, Brienne? What do you think the painting means?” He asked softly, turning his gaze back to hers. Brienne told herself not to let her guard down, but it was difficult when his eyes burned the same bright green of the wildfire used to light the lamps at the street festival outside. She couldn’t look away from him, the same way she couldn’t look away from him when they were younger. But she had been a kid then, too young to know what love, and heartache, truly were. 

“It’s the kind of painting that means something different to everyone. That is what makes it so powerful. You must be extremely proud of your father.” No matter how much she disliked Tywin, or how much he detested her, she did have to admit he had the raw talent it took to be an excellent artist. 

Jaime opened his mouth to speak just as Olenna Tyrell, owner of the _Rose and Thorn_ gallery, poked her head out from the back office. Brienne turned at the sound of her voice. 

“Brienne, dear,” she called, “I’m finished counting the money. You were a tremendous help tonight, unlike my worthless grandson, and there will be something extra in your pay check.” Just then, she noticed Jaime standing behind Brienne. “Oh, Mr. Lannister, I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought you would have joined the others at the festival. Or has Brienne broken some law that requires the Assistant District Attorney’s immediate attention?” The _Queen of Thorns_ was what the entirety of Westeros called the Tyrell family matriarch, but her prickly tone, while scaring some speechless, only made Jaime laugh. 

“Not at all, Mrs. Tyrell. Brienne and I were just discussing my father’s art. Who bought the painting, may I ask?” 

Olenna barely surpassed five feet tall, but when she straightened her spine, she was a formidable giantess. “I did, Mr. Lannister. I purchased it for my own personal collection. One of the benefits of owning an art gallery, I must say. I get first dibs on everything.” 

If Jaime was as surprised at the revelation as Brienne, he was tactful enough not to show it. Brienne had known the painting sold early in the night, despite the astronomical price tag, but she hadn’t realized Olenna had coveted the portrait. 

Olenna turned her attention back to Brienne. “I’ll swing by the night drop at the bank on my way home to deposit the money.” This was normally Brienne’s job, and she opened her mouth to protest but Olenna held her hand up, demanding Brienne’s silence. “Why don’t you both get out and enjoy the festival? The band is still playing for another hour, and someone has to keep an eye on Margaery, in case she tries to take home some unsuspecting Northern tourist. Make sure my granddaughter doesn’t ply them with too much alcohol, please.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, Olenna slipped back into the office. 

Jaime turned to Brienne with a grin. “I don’t think you should ignore the proclamation of a queen,” he joked. “I’ll walk you over to the festivities.” 

Brienne knew she should protest, but found herself nodding in agreement instead as she pulled the keys to the gallery out of her pocket. After she turned off all the lights and the locked the doors, she and Jaime walked across the plaza. She could hear the local band, _The Gold Cloaks_ , blasting music up to the cloudy sky. The moon sulked behind the clouds, making pools of shadow and light on the ground, and the air filled with the mouth-watering aroma of food. Brienne’s stomach rumbled and she remembered that she had skipped dinner while helping prepare for the art show. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Jaime asked, speaking for the first time since they departed the gallery. Brienne nodded, and he placed his hand on the small of her back as they began to maneuver through the crowds jammed tightly together. She tensed, feeling the warmth of his palm thought the summer-light fabric of her gallery uniform shirt. Brienne silently cursed the goose bumps that broke out along her arms at his touch. 

“Let’s head to the Onion Knight’s food truck and get some onion broth stew,” he suggested. His hand dropped to her waist, touching her lightly, guiding her among the throng. There was something possessive in his touch. As they made their way through the horde, the giddy feeling in her stomach caused her some alarm. She did not want this man, she reminded herself as dangerous warmth invaded her body. She was not like all the other women in Westeros, unable to resist the Lannister good looks. Despite their growing closer as of late, she had to steel herself against him, as she had done for years. 

People filled the square and the blocked off streets below Aegon’s Hill. _The Gold Cloaks_ were playing a familiar tune. It took her a moment to remember where she had last heard it. When it clicked, she stopped dead in her tracks, causing Jaime to bump into her. 

“What?” 

“This song,” she said, “it was playing at the bar, at _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ the night Jorah Mormont’s bear was stolen. I just remembered.” 

“Probably was,” Jaime replied, looking at her with his head cocked to the side. “This is one of _The Gold Cloaks_ staple songs. They play it at almost every gig.” Looking into his green eyes eased the stress of the memories of that night. His eyes had always been compelling, framed by lashes so dense they tempered the angular panes of his face. His eyes had always spoken to her, she admitted, but sadly, she could find the same green eyes on the face of his twin sister, and Cersei’s eyes always imparted something far different than Jaime’s ever had. 

“I didn’t know you were such a local music devotee,” Brienne joked, attempting to break the tension of the prior moment. “I thought practicing law kept you too focused.” Jaime’s face remained serious despite her playful tone. 

“There is a lot you don’t know about me, Brienne.” She wasn’t touching that one. 

She forced her gaze away and back to the brightly lit plaza. She saw Margaery dancing with Loras and Renly; the three were laughing and seemed to be having a terrific time. She should excuse herself and join her friends. She knew better than to spend any more time than necessary with Jaime Lannister, but she allowed him to lead her toward the food, letting her stomach overrule her common sense. She was happy with her decision when they arrived at The Onion Knight food truck. 

“Hey! It’s two of my favorite customers!” Davos Seaworth greeted them happily. Brienne had been visiting Davos’ food truck a couple times a week since she and her father had moved to Westeros after her mother’s death. She returned his twinkling smile. “The usual?” he inquired. 

Both Brienne and Jaime answered “Yes” simultaneously, startling each other, and laughing when they were both handed piping hot bowls of onion broth stew. Brienne wanted to protest when Jaime paid, but she kept her mouth shut to preserve the peace that had appeared between them in the past few weeks. 

Finding an empty park bench was out of the question, so they ate standing up, watching the dancing crowds. 

“No one makes onion broth stew like Davos does,” Jaime murmured, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “The years I was living at Casterly Rock I kept trying to find some this delicious, but nothing compared.” Brienne was surprised he brought up his time at Casterly Rock. She still couldn’t imagine why he had wanted to return to King’s Landing, a place that held such unhappy memories for him, when he could have stayed at his family’s home and perhaps been appointed a judge by now. There were things Brienne had wanted to ask Jaime for years, but she knew it was better not to get too personal. Jaime Lannister would have to remain a mystery to her. It was for the best. 

They had just tossed out their bowls when Brienne noticed Ronnet Connington making his way through the crowd toward them, sporting a black eye. Despite Jaime’s meanicing glare, he grabbed at Brienne’s arm. 

“I want to talk to you, Brienne,” Ron entreated. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

Brienne blistered him with a hot stare. “I have nothing to say to you.” 

“You heard the lady,” Jaime said, stepping closer to Brienne and eyeing Ron’s unwelcome touch on her skin. “Go away.” 

“Fuck off, Lannister,” Ron growled. “This is none of your business.” 

“You’re damn lucky she hasn’t pressed charges against you, Connington. And if she does, then it will be my business, as her attorney.” 

Ron eyed her incredibly. “I can’t believe you’ve thrown your lot in with this incestuous piece of shit, Brienne. I thought you had more class and brains than this.” 

Brienne scowled at him, wishing she still had a bowl of hot stew in her hands that she could throw in his face. “Jaime isn’t that man,” she bit out the words. “And Jaime isn’t the kind of man who would drug a woman’s drink then abandon her at a bar.” Brienne’s voice was rising with every word, but she couldn’t help it. 

Ronnet looked back and forth between her and Jaime. “I should have known he would tell you.” Ron’s face turned bitter and cruel. “I thought half a roofie would relax you. You’re so uptight, but even that couldn’t get you to spread your legs.” 

Ron turned and shoved his way through the crowd. Jaime started to go after him but Brienne grabbed his hand. Jaime looked down at their clasped hands in surprise, then back up into her blue eyes. “Let’s dance,” she whispered. She tugged and he moved with her toward the twirling throng. 

“You don’t have to distract me, Brienne,” he said, still allowing her to lead him around a group of children licking pink cotton candy sugar off their fingers. 

“I’m not. I’m taking care of you.” 

She stopped and he bumped into her. Their hands linked, their fingers lacing together. “Taking care of me?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Yes, Jaime. I’m not stupid.” She pressed down on the bruises on the knuckles of his left hand that she had surreptitiously noticed earlier when the gallery was packed. He winced at the pressure on his contusions but didn’t reply. “I know it was you who punched Ron for what he did that night at _The Bear and The Maiden Fair_. Don’t deny it.” 

Jaime sighed, knowing that refuting the truth would do no good. “I won’t deny it. It was worth it. He won’t be dropping anything into a woman’s drink ever again.” 

“You promised you’d let me take care—“ 

He put a finger on her lips, silencing her. “I know, and you can take care of yourself, that’s not why I did it. I had my own reasons. Can you trust me on that?” 

She gazed into his eyes, not knowing how she truly felt. Part of her was grateful to him for defending her honor and touched that he would go to the trouble, at cost to his job as Assistant District Attorney. On another level, she was disturbed. Jaime punching Ron made her feel like she owed Jaime a debt, and she wasn’t sure what he would want in return. 

“Thank you, Jaime,” she finally conceded. He let the subject drop. 

Just then, the claps and cheers of the crowd obliterated the final notes of the current song. Brienne had forgotten that they were standing in the middle of hundreds of dancing bodies. The band began to play again, a soft, melodic tune that was a sharp contrast to the loud dance beats of their earlier refrains. A slow number, Brienne realized too late, and Jaime pulled her to him, his arms encircling her waist. 

His body was hard and warm against her, and she was aware of every masculine contour. Her mouth turned as dry as the Dornish sands, and Jaime’s hands running up and down her back were just as warm and rough. She knew better than relax her body into his, the way his strong arms were demanding. She tried to keep her spine rigid as his hands returned to the small of her back, dipping dangerously low. He was moving to the slow pulse of the music, his thighs intimately brushing hers. She stared over his shoulder at the other dancers, trying to forget she was in his arms. 

It was impossible. 

Jaime Lannister had a virility that beckoned women, she reasoned, and Brienne, for all her resolve, wasn’t as immune to it as she would have herself believe. To distract herself from wantonly pressing her body into his, she tried talking. 

“Who taught you to dance, Jaime?” The question came out as a croak. 

Jaime leaned back to bestow a grin on her twice as devilish as the one he had given Margaery earlier. Brienne would not admit was secretly pleased with the smile. “My mother taught me to dance. She was a wonderful person.” 

Brienne gave him an approving nod. Despite the damaging events his mother’s death had caused, Jaime loved her. Brienne could relate. No matter what her father had done, she could never stop loving him too. Good people made terrible mistakes, she could see that now as an adult, where she couldn’t see it when she was younger. She had forgiven her father and Jaime had forgiven his mother. 

She wondered briefly if he had forgiven his twin sister as well, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask. She couldn’t change the past. Nothing could. 

As the moonlight broke free from the clouds, she noticed Jaime’s eyes moving over her face in an obscure pattern. It was making her feel self-conscious. “What are you looking at? Do I have stew on my face or something?” 

Jaime laughed. “No. I was just mapping your freckles.” 

Brienne ducked her head. “Well stop. My freckles are awful.” 

He nudged her chin up gently with his finger, his eyes grazing over her features again. “You know what they say about freckles, don’t you?” 

“That they are ugly,” Brienne deadpanned. 

“No,” Jaime replied patiently. “A face without freckles is like a night without stars.” She wanted to roll her eyes at him, but he pulled her closer and she missed her chance. 

The dance area was so packed they could hardly move, but Jaime continued to sway to the beat, nudging one leg between hers. Her arms were gooseflesh and languid heat was pooling between her legs. She tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t ease the tension. Instead, it filled her head with the scent of Jaime’s aftershave. 

He moved a hand off her back and reached up to run his thumb along her neck at the edge of her short blonde hair. They were so close together she could feel the thumping of his heart against her meager breast. She looked at him, then, and the warm glow she had been desperately fighting all night flared into something more when she met his gaze. His eyes filled with a breathtaking intensity. 

They were barely moving, not even pretending to dance. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a flash of Sansa Starks red hair, but not even that could tear her gaze from Jaime. _Nothing can happen here. People are surrounding us_. Yet despite the number of individuals they both knew in the crowd, no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. 

The hand that rested on her back edged lower. His pupils were large and his eyes took on a glazed sheen as his hand cupped her bottom. Her eyes fell to his full lips, now cocked into a grin, so dangerously close. She would not let him kiss her, and she would be damned if she kissed him first. So instead, she rested her head on his shoulder. 

Before she knew it, the hand cradling her bottom pressed her lower body closer until she was flush against his cock. She opened her mouth to tell him to let her go, but no sound came out. The heat of their bodies was making her dizzy. The urge to move against him was too strong. 

She rotated her hips just a little, then a little more. And more. She was mindless as passion coursed through her body. She tightened her arms around his neck as she rubbed her body against his. He didn’t seem to mind. 

He leaned forward, his breath hot and fast against her ear. “Brienne, I hate to tell you but the song is over.” 

She stepped away from him so fast she almost knocked over a couple standing behind them. A hot blush covered her face. 

Jaime held out his hand to her. His face was defenseless. She hadn’t seen it so open in years. “Come home with me. Please.” 

Brienne stared at his outstretched hand, and then looked back into his eyes. “Your father’s painting,” she said. 

Jaime’s eyes widened, and then narrowed suspiciously. “What?” 

“Earlier, you asked me what I thought your fathers painting meant. I never told you.” 

“Okay,” he said wearily, lowering his hand. “What do you think it means?” 

“My first impression was the woman in the portrait loves the man. The flowers he brought for her stir her. She does want to forgive him, but she doesn’t know how. That’s why she turns her face away, to hide her tears.” 

Jaime stared at her in silence. Finally he spoke. “It’s just a painting, Brienne, and my father is a bastard. My mother fucked up. Your father fucked up. I fucked up, and Cersei fucked up, more than any two people have the right to.” 

“You’re just saying this because of the case—“ 

“I’m not. I’m saying this because it needs to be said, and has been for years. There’s perfection in art, Brienne, but not in life. Come home with me tonight.” 

Brienne shook her head. She wanted to go with him, desperately, but there was too much history between them to resolve in one night. She wasn’t sure it could ever be resolved. One thing was certain though. As she turned away from him, defeated, she knew she would always be in love with Jaime Lannister.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The song played by The Gold Cloaks when Jaime and Brienne arrive at the festival is U2's Every Breaking Wave and the slow song is Spend a Lifetime by Jamiroquai. The idea for this story came from The Hideaway by Meryl Sawyer. 
> 
> As always- the JB fandom is an amazing group of people and I am blessed to be a part of it!


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